


The Mourners

by ottergirl



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-01-04
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:12:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottergirl/pseuds/ottergirl
Summary: "It was I that killed Drace, my lord," Gabranth said quietly."So it was. And now I have something to say to you, Gabranth." Larsa waited until the man's gaze met his.





	The Mourners

The emperor's tomb, of course, was the most splendid, the most ornamented, the lawn before it carpeted in a brilliant tide of flowers. Unwilling to trample any of them, Larsa only gazed at the tomb from a distance. It was very early morning, dawn a pale gray suggestion to the east, the only time of day he could count on the place to be free of mourners. He had brought flowers as well, a trio of white gardenias. He separated a pair and carefully laid them atop the other offerings.

"You were well-loved, Father," he said aloud.

He heard footsteps approaching from somewhere behind them, the clank of a man walking in full armor. The particular cadence of these steps told him it was Gabranth, and he was grateful. The presence of any other personal guard, judge or judge magister, would have been intolerable to him at that moment. From that first terrible discovery of the slain Gran Kiltas Anastasis, the subsequent journey home, the funerals of his father and Judge Magister Drace, and every waking moment in between, emotion had raged in Larsa like a fire that threatened to destroy all reason. It was fury and grief in their purest forms. He had never known such emotions before, had never known how they could sweep away years of etiquette, courtly training and all the mastery over himself that he had once thought he possessed. 

In the airship that had returned him to Archades he had raged and thrown things and utterly destroyed the little cabin that had been allotted him, and Gabranth had witnessed it all in silence, without a hint of reproach. Larsa was quite sure he hated him for that. And he was profoundly grateful.

He didn't turn, didn't acknowledge the man's presence, but moved on to the more populated area of the cemetary from which the emperor's resting place was apart, passing through the square of blank-faced guardians of the tomb without looking at a one of them. Gabranth's measured, clanking steps followed him at a distance. He carried his last gardenia into the tomb of the judge magisters, where Drace had been buried with full honors, pardoned after her death. He was aware that Gabranth remained outside.

He didn't know what words to say to her, the woman who had been teacher and mother both to him for so many years, executed by his brother's own order. A father and a mother stolen from him, while he was halfway across the world, pursuing his own foolish ends.

In the end, he said nothing, but he left the flower.

When he emerged, the sun was beginning to rise; its golden light seemed to pierce his eyes. He blinked and felt the tears spill from them. Gabranth was waiting just outside the tomb.

"My lord." He faced Larsa, or seemed to; it was difficult to tell when he wore his helm. If he saw the tracks on Larsa's cheeks, he didn't comment. "There is something I feel I must say to you."

"I know." Larsa turned his face to the east and let the sun dry the wetness on his face. "It was you that killed Drace."

The armor-clad figure beside him rocked back a step as though struck. Larsa looked up at him.

"Remove your helm, Gabranth," he said quietly.

He thought for a moment the man would refuse, but then the big hands in their gauntlets slowly rose. Gabranth bowed his head as he lifted the helm, like a sinner before an altar.

"Go on," Larsa told him, looking into the stone face, the flinty eyes that did not quite meet his. "Say what you meant to say."

"It was I that killed Drace, my lord," Gabranth said quietly.

"So it was. And now I have something to say to you, Gabranth." Larsa waited until the man's gaze met his. 

"You will not kill yourself. I forbid it."

Gabranth stared at him. Eyes so pale should not be so opaque, Larsa thought. "Yes, my lord."

"Do you understand what I am saying to you? You will bear your grief and your shame, no matter how it pains you. Either I am your lord or I am not. You will heed me in this."

"Yes, my lord."

"I am the master, Gabranth, and you are the vassal. Your life is mine. You will not take it."

Gabranth was very pale under his tan, and for a moment Larsa feared that he had gone too far. But then a flicker passed through the man's eyes, and his face was a human face, not the face of a creature waiting to die.

"Yes, my lord," he said again, softly, and Larsa believed him this time.

The sun was well and truly risen now. Larsa turned his face into it for a moment, his eyes closed. He felt he did not deserve to feel its warmth on his face. Yet could he stop the sun from rising, stop the days from passing, stop the world from turning on its axis? Ivalice would not pause for the deaths of Emperor Gramis and Judge Magister Drace.

"We have things to do, you and I," Larsa murmured, opening his eyes, and Gabranth inclined his head in agreement.


End file.
